


Coffee

by Nebulafawn



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Homesickness, Sad, hisses aggressively I don't even know if this is any good but, well it's time to post a fanfic after 3 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulafawn/pseuds/Nebulafawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk spends the night at Sans' and Papyrus' house, and they start to feel a little homesick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I literally have not written fanfiction in 3 years. the last one I wrote was a self-insert soul eater fanfic
> 
> I don't even know if this is good or not but it's been sitting on my computer for a month and if I keep compulsively editing it then it's just going to get worse
> 
> ugh here we go!!!!!!!!
> 
> [also: there is a deleted scene at the end, which takes the fic in a much darker light. it contains graphic descriptions of violence and major character death!!]

There’s something special about early dawn.

  
Frisk leans over the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the soft rays just beginning to brighten the snow outside. The sun casts a warm, yellow glow across the morning sky, tinting the horizon with a haze of gold. The windows are covered with a thin layer of frost starting to melt in the warmth of the new sun.

  
Frisk holds a cup of coffee resting on the countertop, thankful for the welcome heat seeping into their chilled hands. Honestly, Snowdin is way too cold for an underground village, and Frisk doesn’t know how the other citizens of Snowdin tolerate the cold so well. Well, if you lived in Snowdin, it would be understandable if you adapted to the cold, but Frisk’s home is in a rather warm place--

  
Home.

  
Frisk drops their eyes from the snowy taiga to the turquoise cup of steaming coffee, milky spirals of cream swirling in the mug.

  
It almost hurts to think of home, a cozy brick house shaded by an old, almost regal elm tree. Home was days of warm summers, of pool water and laughter, the scent of the new blooms of flowers. Home was shouldering a backpack as red and orange twisted up the trees, walking home while listening to soft whistles of cardinals above and the crunch of leaves below. Home was ruddy cheeks and snowball wars, the eight flames of a menorah and presents from distant relatives, the unbridled joy of the new of cancelled schools. Home was…

  
Everything. Everything that Frisk had ever cared about and loved was a part of that home. And, although they were extremely grateful to Papyrus and Sans for letting them stay the night, Frisk simply wasn’t home. And no amount of days at summer camps could equal the utter homesickness they felt at that moment, the way a cold weight had seemed to sink into the pit of their stomach. More than anything, Frisk just wanted to go home.

  
“Hey, kid.”

  
A baritone voice beside them snapped them out of their thoughts. Startled, they set their coffee down and quickly turned their head to the side to see Sans standing there. He flashed his ever-present smile at Frisk and rested his elbows on the counter next to them, leaning on them and turning his gaze out the window. “You’ve got a little something on your face there,” he remarked offhandedly, as if he was chatting about the weather.

  
Confused, Frisk gently touched their cheek and looked at their hand, dimly surprised to see tears on their fingers. They turned towards Sans, about to explain, but stopped short when they noticed he was nonchalantly sipping out of a familiar mug. Frisk glanced down and noted that, indeed, their coffee had somehow been stolen from underneath them without them noticing.

  
Rather than questioning Sans and his odd abilities, Frisk simply turned back to the snowy forest outside and watched the rising dawn again.

  
They were silent for a while. Frisk, being of few words themself, appreciated that the quiet between them was not awkward or strange. That was the way everything was with Sans; he was content to just be, and Frisk always felt comfortable with him.

  
After a time, Sans quietly said, “Were you thinking about your home?” Frisk glanced out of the corner of their eye to Sans, who was still looking out the window. He always had a permanent grin, but this time, it seemed… subdued. Somber. Frisk looked down and nodded once, almost hesitant.

  
Sans paused, then said simply, “I could tell.” The way he spoke was interesting, as if he had a wiseness far beyond his years, or perhaps that he had seen the same longing expression that Frisk had many times.

  
“What do you mean?” asked Frisk.

  
There was a short pause, where Sans looked deep in thought, as if thinking about how to explain a profound idea to a very young child.

  
Then, suddenly, Sans’ eyes glimmered and his smile slowly grew, like a fox that had cornered a vole, taking Frisk aback at his expression and rapid shift in mood. Frisk slowly took another long drink of the coffee, watching Sans curiously from behind their bangs. There was a short silence where nothing was said, Sans grinning widely as Frisk waited for an explanation.

  
Then, Sans spoke.

  
“You looked...”

  
Sans paused, and Frisk leaned in a little bit, like Sans was sharing some deep, dark secret. Frisk took a long drink of coffee, watching Sans intensely.

  
“...just a little bit…”

 

“...bonely.”

  
Immediately, Frisk choked on the coffee, the milky-sweet drink burning their lungs. Sans reached over and began to clap Frisk on the back, but any sincerity intended by him was lost, as Sans snickered gleefully while Frisk hacked into their sleeve. Finally, Frisk turned to Sans, eyes watering, and rasped, “That is… so stupid.”

  
“Come on, you’re smiling. I am the actual best at jokes,” laughed Sans proudly.

  
“I am smiling, but I don’t want to.”

  
Sans snorted and tucked his hands into the pockets of his ever-present hoodie. “Come on, you know you want to smile, kid.”

  
Frisk giggled and lightly punched Sans on the shoulder. “Fine! I’m smiling. You win.”

  
“You should be. You have a nice smile.”

  
Frisk laughed and simply thanked him.

  
A companionable silence wrapped the two of them. Frisk scooted a little closer to Sans, and he wrapped an arm around their shoulder, the friendly action reminding Frisk warmly of Toriel.

  
As much as Frisk would have loved to stay just a little longer with the skeleton brothers, they knew that, eventually, they would have to leave and exit the Underground. Frisk sighed and leaned a little bit into him, their cheek pressing into Sans’ hoodie.

  
After a while, Frisk gently pulled away from Sans. “I should… go,” said Frisk, vaguely, hoping he would get what they meant.

  
Sans, after a moment, nodded and released Frisk. “Yeah, I know you’ve got places to be. But, you’re always free to come crash on our couch, bud. Don’t be a stranger.” He reached out and patted Frisk on the back, then started to walk out of the kitchen.

  
As Sans was almost into the living room, however, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at them. “Don’t miss me too much, kid. I have a feeling we’ll be meeting a lot in the future.” With that cryptic statement, he winked at Frisk, and disappeared around the corner.

  
Frisk looked down at their coffee, now cooled and no longer as warm. Frisk sighed and tilted the mug up to their lips, savouring the remainder of it. They knew that they had to leave - the call of home was too powerful to ignore - but a small part of Frisk wanted so badly to stay with Sans and Papyrus, to have more dinners like last night’s at Grillby’z, to listen to Papyrus pursue his dream of the Royal Guard and become a world-class spaghettore (whatever that was; Frisk wouldn’t be surprised if Papyrus had made up the title).

  
But, even as Frisk set their mug in the sink and turned to exit the warm kitchen, Frisk felt a familiar… readiness to take on this strange world, to make their way through the Underground and pass through the barrier. Above all of their feelings of anxiety about the unknown ahead, they were determined. The idea that Frisk would always have friends here in Snowdin, with a comfy couch and many dumb puns awaiting, filled Frisk with a familiar wash of confidence.

  
Emboldened, Frisk left the warm house, carefully shutting the door behind them. They walked out into the snow, feeling the heat of the cozy home fade as they ventured into the cold, new dawn.

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

[deleted scene time! just a different 'branch' that results in the same end, but makes the fic much darker than the above version.]

[note: I know that papyrus's death is made out to be more humourous that anything in canon, but I had to twist it around to make this scene as dark as I wanted it. lol. also, I wrote this before I did the genocide run]

 

“What do you mean?” asked Frisk.

  
There was a short break, where Sans looked deep in thought, as if thinking about how to explain a profound subject to a child.

  
Then, suddenly, Sans’ eyes glittered, and his smile grew slowly, like a fox that had cornered a vole. The odd feeling that had taken Frisk was shoved away by an overwhelming wave of dread at Sans’ expression and all-too-knowing tone of voice. They tensed; memories of nightmares arose, where Frisk had killed too many innocent monsters, the feeling of a steel blade against bone strangely familiar. The expression on Sans right now was a mirror of Frisk’s own face in those awful dreams. They gripped their mug in a white-knuckled vice, which suddenly felt too much like the handle of a knife. Dreams shouldn’t ever feel like they really happened, right?

  
Frisk brought the mug to their lips, shaking almost imperceptibly. They tried to look as casual as possible, paranoid that Sans could somehow see into their mind. They thought he could see their memories of Papyrus begging for mercy in the snow, joints twisted at unnatural angles; of Sans deliriously asking an imaginary Papyrus if he wanted anything from Grillby’z as he slowly bled out, red staining the floor beneath him.

  
Then, Sans spoke, snapping Frisk back into reality.

  
“You looked...”

  
Sans paused, and Frisk’s hand that was holding the coffee began to tremble more. They took a long sip, watching Sans wide-eyed from behind their bangs. Faintly, Frisk swore they could hear screams of voices both familiar and unfamiliar. Most terrifying, however, was that over the cacophony, they could hear the soft giggle of a child.

  
“...just a little bit…”

 

“...bonely.”

  
Immediately, Frisk choked on their drink, the coffee burning their lungs; however, the sting of it was almost completely offset by the flood of relief at the fact that Sans was only joking. He reached over and began to clap Frisk on the back, but any sincerity intended by the action was lost, as Sans snickered gleefully while Frisk hacked into their sleeve. Finally, Frisk turned to Sans, eyes watering, and rasped, “That is… so stupid.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe
> 
> [edit 12/24/2015: minor grammar corrections]
> 
> [edit 12/27/2016: just realized I had a Big Stupid Grammar Mistake in the description and fixed it]


End file.
